Contingency
by Weegie
Summary: When the Hero dies, you need a plan B. Sorta Zel/Gan? Post Ocarina of Time. Warnings for situations of an adult nature, where consent is questionable.
1. Contingency

How awful it was to be alive.

This was no way to think, no way to live, yet what other choice did she have?

A test of strength, of endurance, of faith. Had any person ever lived through such a disaster as this? She was not sure.

She felt so small and powerless.

Power. There was something she could use now. It was in such short supply, monopolized by one cruel tyrant. In her dungeon cell, she felt her powerlessness acutely.

This cell was dark, damp, cold. She ran her dirty hands along them to remind herself that she was still alive. This was no nightmare to wake from. She had no father or mother or nursemaid to console her. There was no one.

Worst of all, there was no hero.

A single, foolish mistake she had made so many years before had set the world on this dreadful course. She had been so sure of herself then, so sure the desert man would be foiled, so sure of her hero's abilities.

He had been a fantastic hero. He had been true. And he had died.

And now the desert man was a Demon King. She bit back the wave of despair until it dripped out in short, painful sobs. Here in her prison she had an endless supply of time scrutinize her plans, and when she lost the strength to do that her mind would drift to recent memories. There was a sunlit courtyard, a nighttime reading binge, a favoured dish, her mother.

Her father.

He hadn't believed her warnings about the Demon King. It didn't matter now, she supposed, but wasn't it nice to consider, if her father had been wiser, what he might have done to this usurper. She thought of the proud men of her father's army, the great knights. Where were they now? The ones that had lived, anyway. Those thoughts were too restless and sad, and she put them away.

A day became several and then into a week and longer. In all this time, this desert thief, this new Demon King, made no appearance. And so, she thought, why should he? What was she now? Once, she was a princess of a great kingdom. After her father, she ought to be queen, but a queen does not sit in a dungeon. She was merely a prisoner in a new, dark world.

Is that really what she was? As she picked at her moldy bread, she had a thought so simple that it angered her to not have thought it before. If this desert man could make himself Demon King and lord of her kingdom, she would make herself a queen.

The tin plate made a fine instrument, though not as sweet to hear as a flute or a harp. Beating it against the stone wall summoned a guard, who came lumbering to her prison door.

"What?" he asked, growling, through the small window.

Standing on tiptoes, she was barely able to peer out, and glared with defiance at the man-beast. "Summon your master. I wish to discuss terms," she said, her strong voice ringing off the dungeon walls as the beast considered her words.

"Terms," the man-beast said back, before snorting and waddling away.

Two more days passed before an answer came in the form of the Demon King himself. She woke to the clang of a javelin tapping along the floor and the appearance of her man-beast jailer standing over her. He grunted orders to stand and she did so, slowly, and was impressed when he offered a scaly arm to steady her. Offering her thanks, she hugged her tattered clothing close and made her way along the winding dungeon corridors and up stairs to a building that looked as dank and dark as the dungeon cell had been, the only distinguishing features being fire and carpet.

Here was a large room, empty and cold and poorly lit. The ceiling rose high and cavernous. She tried not to think too much about her old home, light and bright, that stood here once. She didn't have much time to consider it.

"You have terms, do you?" A voice spoke from the shadow. It was a deep, bellowing voice, dripping with cruelty. She knew it instantly.

"I do," She said slowly, turning.

The voices in the room were deceiving, as if they came from everywhere and nowhere. She did not know where to look. She could feel a hundred eyes on her, peering pervertedly at her from the dark. A wave of heat hit her suddenly from behind, and there she found him, sitting on a dark stone throne covered in sharp spikes and surrounded by fire. A glamour of dark magic, she told herself, steadying her nerves.

"Ganondorf." The name rolled out of her like acid. She pulled tighter to the rags, and tilted her head back, higher.

"Zelda." He spoke her name like a caress and leaned forward in his throne. "I'm eager to do business. Finally."

"My terms," Zelda began.

"Impatient?" He interrupted with a devious smile. "You do not wish to give to me the courtesy of small talk?"

"My terms," Zelda sighed, restarting. "I lend to you the powers of the Triforce of Wisdom for the protection of my people."

"Such dry conduct. You Hylians," he said, dismissive. She ignored him.

"Those are my terms," Zelda said.

Ganondorf sat back, unmoved.

"What else?" he asked, unimpressed.

Zelda paused.

"What else do you want?" Zelda asked in a wavered voice.

Ganondorf stood and slowly descended the carpet stairs, his long, red cape flowing like a thin silken line of blood in his wake. In the light, she saw the gleam of his amber jewels and his thick, ashen armour. Her gaze followed him, even as he came to tower over her slight frame and she had to crane her neck to look at him. He was a freakishly huge man, and she knew he could crush her skull in a single fist if he wished to. She guessed he didn't want to. Not yet.

He stopped before her, folding his large arms, and she could smell leather and dirt and blood. She watched his yellow eyes, deep and almost beautiful, if not for their savage intensity.

"The Triforce of Courage was a fascinating prize," he said, tightening his right fist. "When I took Power, it was a rush, not unlike the first time I had killed a man, but so much more. Courage was different. When I took it from that simple boy, I felt a righteous energy."

She could see the outline of the three triangles on his hand, two glowing much better than the remaining, which in turn began to glow in harmony on the back of her own hand.

"And then there was Wisdom," Ganondorf said, looking to Zelda's hand. "You can feel it, can't you?"

"What else do you want?" Zelda asked with annoyance.

"Your lack of enthusiasm in civil conversation is irritating, Zelda, as is your lack of respect. I shouldn't need to remind you who is king here," he said, rumbling.

"Is that what you want? Small talk and a grand title?" Zelda asked, stifling a bitter laugh.

"Details," he shrugged and began to circle her. "I want Hyrule."

"You have Hyrule," she said, looking away.

He stopped his circling. "Your hero, though a boy, was a worthy task for me. In defeating him, I sent an important message. You, however, are different. I could kill you. I wanted to kill you, when you were a little whelp hiding behind your nursemaid's knees." His hand reached out to her, landing on her chin, and turning her face to his once more. "You were a clever little thing, then. I was impressed enough by your little ruse to hide from me in my own service, masquerading as the Sheikah boy. And then I found you, a woman grown." He turned her head, his eyes observing her closely.

"I won't marry you," Zelda said, as haughtily as she could muster. Ganondorf could only laugh.

"You think too highly of yourself," he said, his devious grin returning. "No, Zelda, I don't want to marry you. That's not the message I want to send."

Zelda felt her palms begin to sweat.

"I think, clever little thing that you are, that we had an understanding. Those are my terms," he said, as he watched for her reaction.

She tried not to think of the answer as she spoke it, and of the consequences of her choice. Zelda asked herself once more: what choice did she have?

This question haunted her. The Demon King wasted no time taking advantage of their new terms. She summoned her strength to block the pain, the sound of his voice growling her name, the smell of his sweat, the feel of his mouth on her. And as she sat up, clinging the dark sheets to her she asked herself the question again.

The bed shifted and a rough callused hand reached out and traced fingertips across her back.

"Now, Hyrule is truly mine," he said, raspy and breathless.

She said nothing, holding back tears, not of despair, but of rage. He was wrong, and she would prove it to him.

And she had a plan.


	2. Obstacles

Zelda's first plan had been simple: lure Ganondorf into the Sacred Realm and seal him there with the hero's assistance.

No, that was wrong. That plan had been neither simple nor her first. Worst of all, it failed.

She had conceived it as a mere child, after the man dark clouds had stepped out from her dreams as a strange visitor to her father's court. Zelda worked out a secret plan to ambush the tyrant before he could do any harm, but Ganondorf had outsmarted her then. Of course he had. He was a seasoned man of intrigue and war, and she had been barely out of the nursery. She consoled herself with that.

How the hero had failed, that was on her. She could do nothing to protect him, and had watched him die. He had fought as well as any knight of Hyrule. He still failed.

After Link had fallen, Zelda was tossed into a dungeon in the lowest recesses of the Demon King's dark castle. She had no idea as to the fate of her fellow sages, the psychic link between them broken, she suspected, by some kind of barrier. The isolation had been nearly maddening.

Like most women in her family, Zelda possessed the ability to sense the minds of others. Sometimes this came as only dreams or premonitions. With others, she could fully communicate by thought alone. She had that bond with Link. They had dreamed of one another. And there had been others, close to her. Ganondorf seemed to have a similar ability, but ruled as it was by dark magic it had a number of limitations. He wasn't able to read her thoughts. She didn't think he could, anyway.

She was sure the castle itself was the barrier, but had not tested it. What she was sure of was that she needed her allies. Alone, Zelda would never be able to take on Ganondorf. No man could. Taking advantage of the bitterness of the various monster clans that hated the Hylians, he had called them to his service. Zelda would need to find her people, and the other races. She required the sages, too. And she knew Ganondorf would understand this as well.

She was hopeful that the sages were safe, and she could find them, and to find them she would need to figure a way around the barrier. This would be her first step.

The new terms Zelda had accepted had come with a few benefits. No longer did she spend her nights on cold stone floors. Her back and neck were grateful for a mattress and pillows. The improved food, clean water and clothing were also not unwelcome. She still remained a prisoner, never leaving the high tower room, visited only by a few servants that despised her, monsters as they were, and by the Demon King himself.

The room itself was round, with a high, arched ceiling and was surrounded by tall red and yellow windows. There were carpets strewn about and the furniture was simple and wooden. It was distinctively Gerudian, she thought, yet had much of Hyrule in it as well.

Ganondorf came to her nearly every evening, rarely staying long, often leaving after he had found his satisfaction. He did not sleep much in her presence, and always when she slept, too. He spoke little of himself. To be sure, she knew of his grandiose ideas, his thoughts on kingship, but never the details.

The rest of the long days she filled with prayer and preparation. Every day she took a calculation of how many days had passed. If she was able to write anything down, she kept note only of basic times and dates. The time crept by slowly, though she knew every minute brought greater suffering.

After a few weeks they had settled into a kind of strange, simple domesticity. He began to visit at more regular hours, and when he was not availing himself of her, he would look over books and documents, many in the Gerudian text she did not know. He felt at ease, she knew, as he discarded his thick, dark armour for a cool linen robe and a simple chain of amber jewels that he wore about his neck.

There was a night, about a month after their deal had been struck, and Ganondorf sat back in a low chair, quietly studying a long document. His face was grave and serious. Zelda sat in the bed that sat central, filed with woven pillows, and contemplated this strange man who was neither husband nor lover. What title best suited their relationship to one another?

Obstacle.

He stood between her and any hope of a future for her country. His hold over it ensured it's slow and sad decay. She frowned.

The robe he wore draped over his massive frame spilled open at his chest. His skin was dark and gleaming and toned. He stood much taller than most men. Was it the dark magic or something else? If he had been sired by a man amongst her people Zelda could not think of any so tall as him. And the women of his tribe were not so freakishly tall. It must be the strange magic.

His hands, so large that they could crush her skull, that had held her body against his even when she could not stop herself from pulling away. It was true that she had come to him, willingly, but there was always a moment when a little bit of panic slipped into her. She would, frantic, push away, turn her head, kick at him, and he would take her firmly, and with a calmness that struck her breathless.

"You can't run from me," he said once, before enveloping her with his body. A hand run down the length of her body, curling itself around a thigh, and pressing back. He would enter and cover her mouth with his own before she could protest.

At that, she would let her mind wander to something else, and let the act run its natural course, and afterwards he would leave just as quickly as he had taken her. Efficiency was a small gift.

And now he stayed just a little longer. Zelda wondered if this was done simply to annoy her.

She left the bed and went over to the windows, wedging herself into a nook between the wall and a high window ledge. The iron frames were black but surprisingly clean, and the faint light bled through the red and orange and yellow glass. Her temple rested on her hands lazily and she pretended she was in a temple somewhere. She pretended she was safe.

Zelda's mind drifted back to her childhood and the sunny, flowered courtyards of her castle home. She used to hide in the bushes there from her nursemaid, and first spied on Ganondorf when he came to swear fealty to her father. The memory made her giddy and, for a moment, she thought she could almost smell the summer wind once more.

She felt a hand creep around her waist as an arm wrapped around her chest, stealing inside the loose robe she wore, the hand caressing a breast, fingers playing with a nipple.

"What's so interesting?" He asked, the playful purr in his voice mostly uncharacteristic. He was in a strange mood.

"I'm tired," she said, sighing. The hand at her thigh reached between her legs.

"I asked a question," he said, rubbing a single finger along her folds. He leaned over, almost whispering the question into her neck.

"Nothing," she said, the word nearly catching in her throat. She tried to close her legs around his hands but could not match his strength.

"I have a gift for you," he said, kissing and biting at her ear.

"We have terms. I won't give myself to you whenever you want," she spoke with difficulty as the anger began to rise in her.

"You don't know how this works," he said, pressing harder. She tried to stifle a discomforting moan. "Or maybe you do." He continued to kiss her neck. "You forget that I was raised by women. My sisters taught me well."

Zelda drew in a sharp breath. "And did any of them ever tell you no?" He laughed into her hair.

"Stubborn, spoiled Hylian," he laughed.

"What did Nabooru ever teach you?" She asked. "You two were close. You awarded her great prominence amongst the Gerudo."

He chuckled lowly. "She was an interesting woman," he said. "And a traitor."

Zelda considered his words. He spoke of Nabooru as if she was… no longer. She would remember that.

"And you two-" she started to speak, but the words caught in her throat as she felt his fingers enter her.

"You're quite chatty today, aren't you?" His sultry voice turned to anger. "So determined to deny yourself of a little bit of pleasure?"

"There is only one thing in this world that you could do that would give me pleasure," she said.

"And what is that?" He asked through heavy breath.

"Die."

He stopped then, and swung her around, grabbing up her wrists tightly. She stared at him, sharp eyed and cold. His own eyes blazed with rage. He would kill anyone else a thousand times over for such a remark.

But not her.

As he seethed in silence, she started to grin, slowly. As much as his eyes swore he would crush her under his heel, her eyes knew better. He could not, would not hurt her. Not now, and not ever. It was not love, but something darker, and deeper. An obsession. And what good would it do to crush his obsession to dust.

He pulled her into his embrace quickly, and his mouth found hers, as hungry as she had ever known it. She could barely grab a chance to breathe as he pressed himself against her, crushing her to the cold wall.

In his cold, cruel passion he had taken her there, lifting her tiny frame against his, balancing her between his body and the stones.

And when he was done he stopped, breathing as heavily as if he had run a thousand marathons. She clung to him, because she had no other choice and because she felt she would fall painfully otherwise.

He moved a hand and took her face in his, caressing her cheeks with his sweaty thumb and turning her eyes ever so carefully to meet his.

"You will never be free of me," he said, chest heaving.

And her heart dropped when she realized she believed him.


	3. Farmers

The Demon King's visits continued, their coupling becoming almost mechanical in frequency. Meanwhile, Zelda pondered her options for contacting the sages.

Trying to find a contact inside the castle was problematic. All the servants being monsters, most did not speak her language, and those that did seemed almost too simple to carry out anything other than basic instruction. Some opportunity to get out of the castle would eventually present itself, she realized during her prayers. It was inevitable. So too did Ganondorf's usual silent contemplation of his books and documents.

"Why should I care if these farming peasants live or die?" Ganondorf said, tossing aside the papers one morning. His sour pout made Zelda laugh. "What?" He asked, rumbling and serious.

"You're not very good at this," she said. He shot her a glare of daggers. "If you wish to rule, then rule. If the farmers stop farming, everyone stops living."

Zelda grabbed up the papers and scrutinized them. These ones, in the Hylian script she knew so well, contained a list of demands from disgruntled farmers who had decided to strike. Zelda thought they were foolish to take on such a man as Ganondorf, but she was proud of them for their courage.

"Only you Hylians need these damned farmers," he muttered bitterly, waving his hand. "Execute the lot."

"Did you want Hyrule just for it's empty fields? What would the Gerudo have eaten without the wheat from Hyrule's fields?" She asked in her best admonishing tone.

"There are Hylians enough to farm," he said, dismissively.

"It's a skill passed down through generations and learned over a lifetime. Kill all the farmers and who is left? Or perhaps you think your demonic soldiers could farm the land. I'd like to see stalfos plow a field." Zelda said, laughing, able for a moment to see the humour in it all.

"In the desert-" Ganondorf began to speak. Zelda stopped him.

"This isn't the desert. If you were content to be king of such a place we wouldn't be here," Zelda nearly spat the words out now, her grin quickly faded.

"Keep silent," he said, a slow burning fire in his eyes.

"Whether or not I am silent won't change the situation. Accept the situation and make amends with the farmers," Zelda said, chancing a glance to the tyrant.

Ganondorf responded in a seething, haunted silence.

"Or kill them all," Zelda sighed, tossing the papers back. "Make an example of them if it please you, but those fields must be farmed."

Still silent, Ganondorf sat, brow furrowed, staring at the papers. Zelda sat, equal still, watching him with judging eyes.

Finally, Ganondorf snapped his fingers, and a stalfos knight appeared from a dusty haze, bowing. The clacking sound of his bones made Zelda shudder, and she considered the demon with revulsion.

"Find the leaders of this peasant rebellion. Take them to Kakariko. Hold them there," Ganondorf said.

The knight bowed again and evaporated into a chalky cloud. Zelda stood.

"You're going to execute them anyway?" She asked, folding her arms.

Ganondorf rose slowly and approached, loosening his long silk robe.

"You're a smart girl. I shouldn't have to remind you that this is none of your business," he said, his words deceptively silken. He stopped before her and began to open the front of her dress. "However, I am willing to show you gratitude for your council."

"They are my people," Zelda spoke clumsily as one of his hands invaded the loose bodice of her dress and cupped her breast. "Our terms were that my people would be protected."

He pressed his mouth to hers, his breath tasting of fennel seeds. "You can't protect them from themselves," he said.

He drew her to the bed. Something about the idea of executing the farmers must have put him in an amorous mood, she thought. She felt it in the way he growled her name and the quick, powerful rhythm of his thrusts, and when it was over she felt as raw as it had that first night.

Ganondorf rose quickly and started to pull on his breeches, signaling his visit for the day was at an end. He would beckon her to assist him when it came time to put on hi armour. Zelda stood up, gently, pulling over a simple chemise, and watched him silently from the end of the bed.

"Are you sorry to see me go?" he asked.

Zelda absorbed the question with confusion. It sounded like trickery. "No," she said, honestly. He chuckled.

"You must miss your people," he said, barely concealing his amusement at the thought. "You must wish to see them again."

"I would," she said. A moment of silence hung between them as she worked up the courage to say more. "Let me speak to the farmers. I can convince them to end this petty rebellion. No blood need be spilled on this account. It would save you so much trouble." Ganondorf began pulling on his boots, and thin smile growing across his face.

"An interesting proposal," he said. "We shall see."

"When?" she asked.

"You'll find out tomorrow," he said simply, before pointing to his armour. "Now, fetch me my breastplate."


End file.
